


To Be a Warrior Like You

by Luck_Kazajian



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Achilles is more of a father than Hades, Achilles mythos, Anger, Blood, Death...but only temporary, Fighting, Gen, Gods' Weapons, Hades asks Achilles for a favor, Martial Lessons, Questions, Spoilers-ish, Stygius, The House of Hades, The Surface, Zagreus grows up, injuries, stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28981890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luck_Kazajian/pseuds/Luck_Kazajian
Summary: Hades is at the end of his rope with his unruly and wayward son. Zagreus is becoming far too...inquisitive...for Hades' liking. He needs something to ground the prince. Something to give Zagreus purpose. Something to make him calmer. Something, no someone, like...Achilles. The House's most stalwart shade and one that Hades has, over the years, actually come to respect. So Hades swallows his pride and asks Achilles for a favor. Not just any favor. But to teach Zagreus the ways of the sword and spear and bow. To teach him discipline. To teach him respect.But what Hades doesn't count on is the fact that Achilles will also tell the prince stories. Stories of the surface. And by the time he figures out that Achilles' lessons are only fueling Zagreus' desire to leave the House, it is too late. The damage has been done. The Prince's mind is full of stories of Greece and glory and war and hope and -- damn it all, why did he ever ask a mortal to teach his son?
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally floating around my head as a one shot, somewhat inspired by reading some other fics on this site that deal with Achilles' time teaching Zagreus to become a warrior (check out There Will Be A Dawn by MissJuliaMiriam). But, as I started writing, it spawned into something larger with several "sections" somewhat modeled after ancient epics (though I'm certainly no poet). I've decided to break those sections up as "chapters" and go ahead and post the first few. This is going to be a more episodic adventure, with chapters coming as I think of them, so I'm not entirely sure how long it's going to be when everything is said and done. 
> 
> I have tried to be somewhat faithful to the myths of Achilles but I’ve sort of borrowed bits and pieces from different versions of his tale to create the stories that he tells Zagreus. 
> 
> There will, perhaps also be more characters than currently tagged by the end of this, so I'll update tags as needed.

“Achilles!” The Master’s voice stings, hot and sharp. Irresistible. 

As a shade in the Master’s house, Achilles can no more ignore that voice than ignore the fact that he is dead. Almost without realizing it, he finds himself standing in front of Hades’ throne, in the great audience chamber, in full view of all the shades gathered there. 

Belatedly, Achilles realizes that he cut off the long line of shades petitioning the Master. He gives the disgruntled shade beside him an apologetic look. But he cannot disobey the Master. The shade half-shrugs, as if he understands, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. 

“You seem reluctant to be here, Achilles.” Hades leans forward over his great desk, the better to look Achilles in the eye. 

Achilles shifts. “Merely...unprepared, my lord. I was not expecting your summons.” 

“Hmph.” 

Achilles isn’t sure what that means, so he doesn’t answer. He feels that it is not his place.

Hades looks around the room, as if noticing the line of shades in front of his desk for the first time. He waves a hand. “The rest of you may go.” 

Amid muted cries of protest, the shades blink out of existence. Not gone, but dismissed back to whatever corner of Hell they came from. They will have to make the journey to the throne room another day, petition their king another time. 

Hades looks back down at Achilles. “Do you know why I summoned you?” 

Surely Hades must know that Achilles is clueless? But Achilles plays along and shakes his head. “No, Master. I do not.” 

Hades sits back in his throne with a sigh. “The Prince has become unruly as of late.” 

The Prince. Prince Zagreus. Hades’ one and only son. A bright and fiery lad with the taste of adventure always on his tongue. Achilles hides a smile. Unruly is hardly adequate to describe all of the boy’s antics. He’s nearly a dead match for his father in looks, but everything else about the boy is different. Zagreus is...so alive for this dead place. And that’s what makes him chafe. That’s what causes him to act out so, to defy the rules his father makes. Because Zagreus is not made for this world. Not wholly. Achilles suddenly realizes that Hades is waiting on his reply. He clears his throat. “Yes, my lord. The Prince is rather...spirited.” 

If Hades notices the play on words, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “I have tried everything, Achilles,” he says. “I have tried speaking with him. I have asked. I have bribed him. I have threatened him. Nothing makes him listen. Nothing makes him behave.” 

Achilles suddenly feels very out of place. The Master of the House is...complaining? No, not quite. He’s...sharing. Sharing his frustration. With a mere shade? Isn’t this information for someone of much more importance than Achilles? Nyx, perhaps? 

“What would you do with him, Achilles?” Hades suddenly asks. 

Achilles freezes, his grip on his spear tightening. What would he do with the Master’s son? 

“Were he yours, warrior, what would you do?” 

Oh. 

Well, that changes the question significantly. That he can answer. 

Achilles takes a deep breath. “Were he mine, Master, I believe I would train him in the martial ways. It is all I know, after all, but it does provide a modicum of discipline and purpose, as well.” 

Hades absently strokes the long ends of his mustache. Achilles wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it. It’s a habit of the Master’s, one that regulars in the House must notice, though no one would ever dare suggest that the Lord Hades has a nervous habit. Hades nods, as if he’s consulted with himself and is pleased with the results. 

“Then I want you to train him, Achilles. A bit of martial skill may yet benefit the boy. Perhaps it will cure him of his fanciful daydreams and cloud-headed desires.” 

Achilles is sure that his mouth must hang nearly to the floor in surprise. He retains enough presence of mind to snap it shut. “M-me, my lord?” He curses the stammer in his voice. Never has the mighty Achilles stuttered before. But never has the mighty Achilles been handed so monumental a task by so imperious a master. 

“I believe you most suited to the task. After all, I have not the time, buried in my work as I am, and I would not entrust my son to just any shade. But you were skilled in life and have served me well in death. I believe you’ll be good for the boy.” 

“Yes. Yes, of course, my lord.” Achilles bows, though the action is a little stiff. “I will train Zagreus to the best of my abilities.” 

“While you are at it, Achilles, see if you can’t beat some of those daydreams out of him, won’t you? Do not spare him because he is my son. He is immortal, after all. If there are some lessons that take him many lives to learn, then so be it.” 

Achilles hopes that he manages to keep the shock from showing on his face this time. The Master just gave him permission to kill Zagreus. More than once. Now, certainly, the Prince cannot die. Not permanently. Zagreus is a god, after all. But he bleeds red, like a mortal. Achilles noticed that back when Zagreus was a little godling, running through the halls with his brothers, Sleep and Death. Zagreus fell and skinned his knee and Hypnos and Thanatos had carried him, limping and crying, to Nyx, who kissed away his tears and bandaged him in shadow. Zagreus had proudly displayed the bandage and told the story of his wound to any shade who would listen. Including Achilles. But Achilles doubted that there were many other shades who noticed the color of the young prince’s blood. 

It isn’t his place to ask, of course. But Achilles is very good at listening and he often hears Nyx and Hades argue with each other late at night. Or what serves as Night here in this realm. Their voices quiet, strained, as they try to have a private discussion in the Great Hall. Zagreus doesn’t belong to Nyx. Not really. That much Achilles knows for himself. But what he hasn’t been able to determine is where Zagreus’ real mother is. Or why she left. So he keeps his mouth shut and plays along with this game that Hades weaves, the one where he pretends to know nothing about his first love, his wife, Zagreus’ mother. 

It is Zagreus who doesn’t want to play the game anymore. 

Achilles hears him asking questions of his father, day in and day out. 

_"Father, why am I so different from everyone else down here?”_

_“What’s the surface like?”_

_“Can I go see it?”_

_“What’s out there, Father, beyond our realm? Why don’t we go there?”_

Achilles both dreads and looks forward to the day that the young Prince learns that he doesn't have a Cthonic mother. Zagreus' life will make more sense then, but Achilles is sure it will only make the Master angry and put further strain on his already distant relationship with his son. 

The Master’s voice drags Achilles back to the present. “Achilles.” 

Achilles realizes that he hasn’t answered the Master yet. “Apologies, my lord. I was...far away.” 

Hades gives him a patient smile. Achilles finds that he’s one of the few shades that Hades has any patience for. He’s not sure why. Perhaps because they have a mutual love of war. Or had. Achilles finds he’s not quite as enamored with war here as he was in life. Perhaps because war was the undoing of him. 

“You accept my charge?” Hades asks. 

“I do, my lord.” Achilles bows again. After all, he cannot refuse the Master. “I will teach him all of the martial ways I know, until his skill surpasses mine and he is Hades’ finest warrior.” 

For a moment, there’s actually a smile on Hades’ face and he looks proud. Of Achilles or of what Zagreus will become, Achilles isn’t sure.

“Very good. Then I have something to show you.” Hades stands up and descends the few steps from his throne until he stands in front of Achilles. This close, the Master of the house is intimidating. He is far taller than any mortal ever was, and Achilles is not a small man himself. But Hades is still a good head and shoulders taller. His shoulders are broad and muscled, his hands strong. Fire licks his feet, as it does the Prince’s, and embers and sparks rain from Hades’ hair with every shift of his head. “Come,” he booms. 

Achilles follows him. Hades leads him through the twisted halls of the house to a room that Achilles has never seen before. A room that, perhaps, has never been opened to the house before. As Hades enters the room, torches flare up along the walls, revealing a wall of weaponry. It is an armory. 

Achilles gasps. “These...these are the gods’ weapons.” 

“Yes. They have long been entrusted to me.” Hades walks up to the wall and removes a spear from its cradle. He holds it fondly, although there is a pained expression in his eyes as he looks at it. “Varatha,” he murmurs. 

“The weapons with which you defeated the Titans,” Achilles whispers reverently. “You want Zagreus to use these?” Achilles reaches out, to touch the sullenly glowing bow, Coronacht, but then he withdraws his hand. These are not his to touch. He is mortal. These weapons...they have a life of their own. Something far more powerful than anything Achilles has ever known. The power to kill even gods. 

Hades puts the spear back. “Within reason, of course, Achilles. These are powerful weapons. They are a Prince’s birthright, but I see no reason to hand Zagreus more power than he is capable of wielding.” Hades walks to the end of the line of weapons and selects the last one on the wall. A sword. 

Stygius. 

Death’s blade. 

The sword seems, perhaps, less threatening than some of the other weapons, but that might be because it is a simpler weapon, more familiar. Achilles bested many swordsmen in life. 

“Begin with this.” Hades holds out the weapon. 

Achilles reaches out hesitantly.

“It will not harm you.” 

Achilles straightens up, tilts his head upward, and takes the sword. After all, what is he afraid of? He is already dead. It’s not like the sword can hurt him. Right? He feels power sing through his arm as he holds Stygius, something heady and warm, almost akin to drinking ambrosia, those few, glorious, stolen sips he’s had. Achilles feels strong. Stronger than he’s ever felt before. 

“Do not let it go to your head, Achilles.” Hades has an amused look on his face. 

Achilles reins himself in with effort. “Of course not, my lord.” He doesn’t think it’s possible for a shade to blush, but he feels the phantom heat in his cheeks. He lowers the blade to his side. 

Then he takes a gamble and asks the question lurking on his tongue. The Master, after all, seems to be in a tolerant mood. “You would give Zagreus this power?” 

Hades falters for only a moment. Just a slight dimming of the sparks in his hair that very few would even notice. But Achilles is observant. He notices. He is pretty sure Hades knows he does. 

“Zagreus is a mere Prince of the Underworld, Achilles. I am and will always be the Lord of this House. He cannot harm me. Still, I see no reason to let him know of the existence of the other weapons until the time is right. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Hades nods, satisfied. “Then, I give him to you, Achilles, to do with as you see fit. Train my son. Teach him discipline. Teach him obedience. Teach him to listen. Teach him to be a warrior like you.” 

Achilles bows again, feeling like the weight of the world has just been placed on his shoulders. How is he supposed to teach all of that to a god? And a willful one, at that? And yet, he cannot refuse. Not when the request comes directly from the Master. 

“I will do my best, my lord.” 


	2. II

“But why, Achilles?” Zagreus hefts the sword over his shoulder, those mismatched eyes boring into Achilles’. How the Master is able to meet that curious gaze with a face of stone, Achilles will never know. It is impossible to refuse the charismatic prince. 

“I do not know, lad.” Achilles smiles at Zagreus. They’re nearly eye to eye now. If Zagreus grows any taller, he’ll surpass Achilles. With his father’s height, it would be no surprise. “Your Father has asked me to teach you the ways of war. And so I shall.” 

Zagreus gives him a suspicious look under coal black hair, sparks falling from those black locks just as they do from Hades’. There’s a sullen twist to the Prince’s mouth that Achilles has come to recognize means Zagreus is displeased with his father. 

“It is no trick, lad,” Achilles says. “I am to teach you to fight.” 

“But who am I going to fight?” Zagreus looks genuinely perplexed. “There is no threat to the House.” 

Achilles shrugs. “That is not for me to know.” 

“You know, for a trusted shade, you’re overly full of ‘I-don’t-know’ and ‘I-can’t-say’.” Zagreus narrows his eyes. 

Achilles sighs. “It must seem that way to you, mustn’t it?” 

Zagreus keeps staring him down. 

“I wish I could tell you more, lad, I do. But your Father keeps his ways as hidden from me as he does from you.” 

Zagreus sighs and rolls his eyes. “Tell me about it.” 

Achilles holds back a smile. He recognizes so much of his own youthful willfulness in the Prince. Although Zagreus has no true age, if Achilles were to give him one, it would be somewhere akin to twenty. That age where a boy is no longer a boy, but not quite yet a man, though he certainly views himself as one. When Achilles himself believed that he held the world in the palm of his hand and that all must fall into place for him and that he could crush all opposition beneath his sandals with no more effort than swatting a fly. And for a while, the world had seemed to work that way. Achilles sighed. And then came Death. 

“What’s wrong, Achilles?” Zagreus asks. 

Achilles is surprised by the question, but, then again, he is often surprised by the Prince. Of all the House residents, Zagreus is by far one of the most caring. Especially for the direct offspring of the Master. For a god, he is awfully attentive to those around him, even those of lower station. 

“Nothing, lad.” Achilles attempts a smile, though Zagreus does not look convinced. “I was just remembering some of my life, is all.” 

“Do you remember it well?” Zagreus asks. 

“Parts of it. Some of the memories have faded with time and there are parts I do not recall so well. Or so fondly.” 

“What was it like?” Zagreus lowers Stygius from his shoulder until it rests, point-down on the ground by his fiery toes. 

“What was what like?” 

“Life. The surface. What were they like?” 

Achilles sighs. “Oh, lad. They were...wonderful.” 

Zagreus gets a wistful look on his face. “I wish I could experience what you mortals do.” 

“Surely you don’t mean that?” Achilles looks surprised. “Our lives are very short and painful more often than not. Compared to godhood...well, there is no comparison.” 

“But that’s the point, Achilles. To know that you lived. Truly lived…” Zagreus trails off. “That’s something, isn’t it?” 

“And you do not feel alive?” 

“Not here. How can I? I’m the Prince of Death.” 

“Not Death. Not exactly.” 

“Of Dying, then.” 

“No. Of the Afterlife. Which is a kind of life all in itself.” 

Zagreus scowls, unsatiated. 

“Perhaps one day you will grow into your role here, as I have,” Achilles says. 

“Perhaps,” Zagreus concedes, but he doesn’t look convinced. 

Achilles looks thoughtful. “Tell you what, lad. For every lesson you learn from me, I will tell you a story of my life. How does that sound?” 

“You have that many stories?” Zagreus’ eyes immediately light up, his expression pure  _ hunger. _ He is more animated than Achilles has ever seen him and the sparks fall from his hair more rapidly. 

“You presume that I have that many lessons,” Achilles shoots back. It comes more naturally, to joke with the Prince, than it does with the Master. 

“You were a warrior once. One of the best, right?” Zagreus is undeterred. “I’m sure you have lots of lessons.” 

“And just as many stories,” Achilles assures him.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Zagreus brings Stygius to bear again. “Let’s begin!” 

Achilles laughs. It feels good to be around such youth and vigor again. 


	3. III

The first lesson is a simple one and as such, the story is a short one. 

It takes Zagreus no time at all to master the stance Achilles teaches him, the way to grasp his sword so that the power comes from his arm and the angle comes from his wrist. So that the blade becomes a part of him and not some unwieldy extension. Zagreus takes to his lessons like a fish to water. After all, being the son of Hades gives him a natural sense of balance and prowess that Achilles has never seen in an Earthly warrior. 

Perhaps it comes from being gods of the underworld, a place unequivocally grounded and solid. Zagreus has a steady stance and Achilles knows from the get-go that the Prince will be hard to stagger. 

Once Zagreus gets the hang of standing around holding Stygius in various positions until his arm becomes used to the weight and he doesn’t shake with the effort anymore, Achilles tells him a story of growing up on the surface. A silly little anecdote about how he once collected a frog with the intention of surprising his mother with it, as he’d known many of his young companions to do, but instead, she took to it like a household pet, being a river nymph and all. 

But the part about the frog isn’t what catches Zagreus’ attention at all. “Your mother was a nymph?” he leans forward with interest sparking in his eyes from where he sits cross-legged on the training ground, Stygius lying forgotten beside him. 

Achilles sits across from him, his spear casually propped against his shoulder. “She was.” 

“What was her name?” 

“Thetis.” It takes a moment for Achilles to dredge the name from memory and he feels a pang in his chest that it should take him so long to remember his own mother. But that has been ages ago now. Lifetimes. He is no longer sure how long he’s been in the House of Hades. Time has no meaning here and there are no days or nights by which to mark its passage. It is as if Time himself has no power here. 

“Thetis,” Zagreus repeats, as if tasting -- no savoring -- the name. “Was she pretty?” 

Achilles is surprised by the question, but he answers. “Yes, lad. She was beautiful. So much so that even the gods vied for her.” 

“The gods?” Zagreus’ eyebrows shoot up under his bangs. 

“Yes. If the stories are to be believed, it was Zeus and Poseidon themselves who wanted her hand in marriage.” 

“My Father’s brothers?” Zagreus leans forward, the light in his eyes greater. “My Uncles?” 

Achilles nods. Although the boy has never met his Olympian family, he asks about them often enough. And though it isn’t Hades who answers his questions, someone (perhaps Nyx) does, as Zagreus is well acquainted with his relatives by name. 

“What happened?” Zagreus continues. “How did she end up marrying your father, then? Wait, you’re not a demi-god, are you?” 

Achilles laughs long and hard at that one. When he finally regains control of himself, he shakes his head. “No, lad, I am not that powerful. My father was an earthly king. A fine warrior, to be sure, but no god. I believe that Hera had something to do with Zeus and Poseidon’s failure to capture my mother’s affections.” 

“Hera?” Zagreus tilts his head.

“Zeus’ wife. She is a jealous woman, and rightly so, being married to the King of the gods. Some say that she raised my mother. That, and there was also a prophecy.” 

“A prophecy?” 

Achilles nods. It’s been a long time since he’s talked about his life like this and the memories are refreshing. He hasn’t thought about his parents in a long time and the more he talks to Zagreus, the more the memories surface. 

“I don’t remember who spoke the prophecy, but it was prophesied that Thetis’ son would become greater than his father.” Achilles leaned forward and lowered his voice. “And you know that the gods wouldn’t stand for that, so they married my mother off to a mortal.” 

“And then you were born.” 

Achilles nods. 

There’s an expression on Zagreus’ face that Achilles has never seen before, one that he can only describe as a mixture of surprise and wonder and restlessness. Like he’s tasted a new food he never knew existed, or discovered a new creature that he never expected. And Achilles knows that, for better or for worse, he’s awakened something in the Prince. Something that perhaps the Master will not like. 

Achilles stands up. “C’mon, lad, we’d better resume your lessons.” 

“But, Achilles!” Zagreus protests, although he pops to his feet. “Tell me more. Please.” 

Achilles laughs. “I will, lad. But remember our agreement? Stories in exchange for lessons. You’ll have to earn the next one. So prepare yourself!” 

There’s a new fire in the Prince’s eyes as they launch into the next lesson.


	4. IV

“To see fields in summer, lad, clothed in brash colors, the sun overhead warming your face…” Achilles trails off with a smile. He reclines on the couch in the prince’s room (Zagreus insisted), and takes a sip of the cup at his elbow, although it is for show, since shades do not eat. However, he would feel rude refusing the fine wine the prince procured for him somewhere. Zagreus is stretched on the rug below him, a mid-day meal of pomegranates and fish spread out before him. Or mid-lesson meal, as Achilles has begun to mark time by the passing of their lessons together. 

He watches with interest as the prince enthusiastically digs into his meal, as if he were actually hungry. The gods do not eat for sustenance, although they often do for pleasure. Perhaps Zagreus consumes food as some echo of his strangely mortal side, since he seems to eat more regularly and with more gusto than most gods Achilles knows. 

Zagreus swallows a particularly large bite and looks up with interest. “Achilles, what’s the sun?” 

Achilles looks down with mild surprise. Sometimes he forgets that Zagreus has never seen the mortal world. One of the few in the House who hasn’t. All of the shades once lived there and most of the others have jobs that occasionally take them to the surface, or at least to the Temple of Styx. 

“Hmm.” Achilles hums in thought. How to explain the sun? “Well, lad, think of the warmest thing that you’ve ever felt. Warm, but not burning. Bright and radiant and...safe.” 

“You mean like Cerberus?” the prince screws his face up in an attempt to find a comparison. 

Achilles laughs. Zagreus and that three-headed hellhound have been inseparable since the boy’s birth. “Sort of.” 

“The sun is a dog?” 

Achilles laughs again, louder this time, a full belly laugh that has his whole body shaking with mirth. 

Zagreus deflates, his fire going dimmer and his mouth drawing down into a frown. He picks absently at his plate. 

“No, no lad, don’t take it the wrong way. It’s no fault of yours.” Achilles takes a deep breath. 

Zagreus looks mildly placated and takes a bite of fish. 

“The sun is…” Achilles pauses again. “The sun is like a giant ball of fire that sits up in the sky, high, high overhead. It is kind of like..." Achilles searches for a comparison. "Like a giant lantern. It provides light and warmth to the surface so that people can grow food and enjoy the day. The god Helios pulls it across the sky each day in his chariot. Although some say that it is Apollo’s job.” 

“Helios? Apollo?” Zagreus tilts his head. 

So, these are new names to the prince. He hasn't learned of all his Olympic relatives, then. 

“Yes, god of the sun and god of light, respectively, although they do not seem so picky as to which of them receives the credit. Perhaps they even share their duties.” 

“You mean, they work together?” Zagreus looks skeptical. And rightly so. None of the gods down here share any of their jobs. They might work in tandem when necessity or decorum demand, but they keep their duties strictly separate. 

“They do, lad. If the poets are to be believed.” 

“Poets? You mean like Orpheus?” 

Achilles smiles. “Yes, very much like Orpheus. There are many, many poets on the surface and they write new songs and stories all the time. Stories about the gods. About heroes and wars and things like love and anger and happiness.” 

Zagreus looks wistful. “Are there any stories about you up there?” 

“I’m sure there are, lad.” 

“Are they good stories?” 

“That would depend on who you ask.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, to the Greeks, I was a hero, but the Trojans would have very different things to say about me.” 

“Trojans?” 

“Yes. They are another group of people. Like the Greeks, but from another part of the surface.” 

“Why wouldn’t they like you, then?” Zagreus asks, head tilted in curiosity. His food lies by, untouched. 

Of course. 

War. 

While it’s a word Zagreus has heard before, it is not a concept he’s familiar with. There are no squabbles over territory here in the Master’s House. Everyone has their place. There are no separate nations. No kings other than Hades himself, whom everyone follows without question (save, perhaps, the prince.) War and tumult are distinctly Earthly things. At least, of the sort that spawn between angry nations seeking to prove their dominance or spread their influence. 

Achilles sighs. “Lad, not everything on the surface is pretty. Surely you have heard of your kin, Ares?” 

Zagreus nods. 

“He likes to stir up trouble between men like myself. Although he is certainly not the only one. Aphrodite has been known to start her fair share of conflict as well. The thing you have to understand about men, Zagreus, is that we are jealous creatures. We always want what we don’t have and think that what our neighbor has must be better than the same thing in our possession. And so we take. Or try to.” 

“You mean, like stealing?” 

“Yes. Though some think it more honorable when the taking is done in war.” 

“When you fight each other, right? Like we do, here, when you train me?” 

“No, not like that at all, Prince.” Achilles’ voice is sad and he feels a tightness in his chest that he can’t explain. Perhaps it is sorrow. Emotions feel different down here in the house, after all. 

“Then what is it like Achilles?” 

“War?” 

“Yes.” 

Achilles sighs. “It is like nothing you have ever seen, Prince. It is exhilarating and horrifying. It is the spear and the sword. It is chariots racing at each other over fields. It is scheming and plotting. It is backstabbing and the handshake of a boon companion. It is the song of blood in your ears and strength in your hands and power in every swing of your weapon. It is death. It is life. There is nothing else like it.” 

Zagreus is absolutely enraptured. “I want to see war, Achilles.” 

“No!” Achilles sits up quickly, his voice sharp and loud. Zagreus almost flinches from the usually soft-spoken warrior. “No, Zagreus, believe me.” Achilles’ voice is soft again and he allows himself to relax against the couch once more. “I hope you never, ever, have to see war.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it is the most deadly thing on the surface and it causes men to go mad with rage and pain and blind with honor and love. It robs men of humanity and turns us into demons. It makes us kill brothers, mothers, fathers, sisters. Whole nations drown in blood. Whole families wiped from the Earth. War turns men into empty shells. I can only imagine what it does to gods.” 

Zagreus is strangely sober as Achilles finishes, and he stirs his food around on his plate thoughtfully. 

“Then why train me to fight, Achilles, if war is such an evil thing?” 

Achilles sighs. “That is not mine to answer, lad. I train you because your father asked me to.” 

Zagreus frowns, mouth half open as if he is about to ask another question. 

Achilles continues, interrupting whatever’s on the prince’s tongue. “That is not to say that martial skill is all bad, Prince. Training you with that sword of yours will teach you discipline and make you stronger. It will turn you into a formidable foe should that occasion ever arise. But most of all, it will turn you into a fierce protector. Not all fighting is bad. Sometimes, it is necessary to save your home. Or your family. Perhaps that will be the type of fighting you do.” 

Zagreus doesn’t answer Achilles this time, or ask any questions. But there’s a strange glint in his eye as he finishes his meal. 

Achilles wonders, yet again, if he said something he shouldn’t have. 


	5. V

“How is he progressing, Achilles?” Hades sits on his throne, as usual, and Achilles stands in front of the great desk, as summoned. 

“Very well, my lord. He has taken to the sword quickly and will soon be a formidable fighter.” 

“Good.” 

“And yet…” Achilles pauses, uncertain. 

“And yet?” Hades prompts. 

Achilles feels something like nervousness boil up in his belly, a feeling he hasn’t felt in...well, in a very long time. “And yet, my lord, I fear that teaching him to fight without giving him anything to fight will make him restless. If he does not have opponents to test his skills, then the prince will grow stale and complacent. I cannot teach him properly if I do not have someone other than myself for him to spar with.” 

Hades strokes his mustache thoughtfully. “Other opponents, hm?” Then his eyes spark with dark fire and he smiles. 

Achilles feels like running from that smile. But he doesn’t. Because only a fool would run from the Master. 

“How good is he, really, Achilles?” 

Achilles takes a long time to answer because he feels that the answer to this question will be extremely important for the prince. Perhaps deathly so. 

“He is adequate, my lord. A strong enough swordsman, though untried and impulsive. Perhaps some --” 

“Perhaps a few shades will break him of these habits, yes?” Hades interrupts. 

Achilles hesitates only a moment before he nods. After all, this is what he came to ask the Master for. More opponents for Zagreus to train with. He fears if he says too much more that Hades might unleash hell upon the prince. They have been arguing more lately, father and son, and it’s no secret in the House that they aren’t getting along. Achilles doesn’t want to give Hades any fodder for this feud. 

And yet, it seems that he inadvertently does, as the next time he meets Zagreus to train in the courtyard outside the prince’s room, they are ambushed by a half-dozen wretches wielding heavy clubs. Even Achilles is caught off-guard, but he manages to hide his surprise and instructs the prince to defend himself. 

The prince does admirably, but this is the first time that he’s faced multiple opponents and that’s a lesson Achilles was hoping to ease him into. Facing one man is very different from facing two, is _extremely_ different from facing six. Six hulking wretched thugs with no remorse and no hesitance. In life, men often hesitate in battle, compelled to do so by their own mortality. But here, they are already dead -- there is no such restraint. The wretches rain blows on the prince from all sides and Achilles jumps into the fray by the boy’s side. 

Zagreus shoots him a relieved look as he deflects the heavy blow of a club coming for his head. His block is clumsy and he takes the full brunt of the swing on his sword. Achilles is sure that must ring all the way up to his shoulders. It drives the prince to his knees. But Achilles’ attention is stolen by the two wretches in front of him and he loses sight of the prince for a while. 

For Achilles, the shades are no match. He is used to fighting men like this, footsoldiers, grunts. All anger and rage, but very little skill. They have some cunning which they use to attempt to surround Achilles, but Achilles's greater skill takes him nimbly out of their reach. He leads his two wretches away from the prince. Though he wishes he could do more, at least he can lessen the threat that Zagreus has to deal with. Achilles dispatches his wretches quickly. He pauses for a moment to catch his breath and looks over at the prince. His heart leaps into his throat. 

Zagreus has managed to kill three of the four wretches that had him surrounded, but the prince now lies unmoving on the ground with the fourth wretch looming over him, club raised for what will surely be a finishing blow on the prince’s unprotected skull. Stygius lies glinting on the stone a few feet away from Zagreus’ outstretched hand. 

Achilles’ vision turns red and he feels the heated blood-rush of battle overtake him. A feeling he hasn’t felt since his days on the surface. With a great battle-cry, he rushes the last wretch, spear outstretched. 

The thug makes a crucial mistake and pauses to assess this new threat. He turns just as Achilles’ spear takes him in the throat. There’s a spray of ichor-like liquid that dissipates as soon as it hits the air and the wretch simply ceases to exist. His club clatters harmlessly to the ground. Achilles kicks it away and drops his spear in favor of kneeling by the still prince. 

“Zagreus!” Achilles reaches for the prince’s shoulder. It’s still warm. There are sparks in his hair and fire licking his feet, though dim. Achilles settles on the ground and draws the prince up into his lap, brushing sweat and blood-slick hair from Zagreus’ face. 

Not dead. Merely unconscious. 

Achilles didn’t know it was possible for a god to be unconscious. He checks the prince over for wounds. Covered in red blood, there’s a huge mottled patch on Zagreus' left side that’s beginning to bruise in violent shades of purple and red. Some of the skin is broken, maybe even a few ribs. It looks like Zagreus took a club full force on his ribcage. There’s also a cut above one eye and another on his right forearm, where he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the clubs’ spikes. 

After a few moments, the prince’s eyelids flutter and he opens those mismatched eyes, blinking a few times as he regains focus. He groans. 

“Achilles?” 

“I’m here, lad.” 

Zagreus licks dry lips and Achilles wishes he had some water or wine to give the prince. 

“What...happened?” Zagreus raises one hand weakly and gingerly touches his head. He winces. 

“We were ambushed, lad.” 

“A-ambushed?” Zagreus’ breath comes in unsteady heaves, and there’s pain in his eyes as he tries to focus on Achilles. “How? What --” 

“Shh. Don't talk. Save your strength, lad.” 

“Achilles...I’m...fine.” But when Achilles shifts the prince toward sitting up, Zagreus yelps and grasps at his side, eyes screwed shut in pain. 

“Slowly, slowly, Prince,” Achilles murmurs. 

Zagreus takes a deep breath (or as deep as he can get) and nods. 

Achilles sits him up a little more. A little more, until he's fully upright. Zagreus’ eyes are still squeezed shut, and his head hangs heavy on Achilles’ shoulder, his breath coming sharp and shallow. Zagreus is hotter to the touch now, so hot he almost burns Achilles. But the warrior doesn’t complain and lets the prince rest against him until he has some of his strength back. 

A whimper escapes Zagreus' as Achilles gets his arms under Zagreus’ legs and shoulders and lifts him like a child. Achilles is surprised by how light he is. For all his prowess and deity, Achilles forgets that Zagreus is little more than a youth, buoyed by the strength and energy of one who has never tasted Death. And never will, Achilles hopes, though he came close today. 

Achilles carries Zagreus into his room and lays him down on the bed. (How the prince’s flaming body doesn’t set his bedclothes on fire is still a mystery to him.)

Once Zagreus is lying down, Achilles removes the three-skull shoulder guard the prince is so fond of, along with his belt, bracers, and greaves. The prince looks smaller now, wearing only his chiton and leggings, half-curled on his uninjured side, eyes squeezed tight against the pain again. 

Achilles shifts, not sure if he should go or stay. So he walks to the basin in the corner of the prince’s room and soaks a cloth in it, returning to Zagreus to wash off the blood. The wound on his side already looks as if it is mending, the skin less broken and no more blood seeps through once Achilles is finished with his administrations, though the bruising remains. When he is finished, he turns once more, uncertain. 

Zagreus’ eyes flicker open. “Don’t leave, Achilles. Please.” 

Achilles looks down at the prince with something akin to pity. At that face, so pale, the fire dim, at the boy shaking like a leaf with fear and pain. It’s no surprise that Zagreus doesn’t want to be alone right now. “Of course not, lad.” Achilles sits on the edge of the bed and lays a hand on Zagreus’ shoulder. The prince stills under his touch. They sit for a moment in silence. Zagreus shivers again. 

“Are you frightened?” Achilles asks gently. 

“No.” Zagreus’ tone is belligerent, his answer fast. Then, a few moments later, softer, so soft Achilles has to lean down to catch the word, “Yes.” 

Achilles isn’t surprised. Zagreus isn’t used to death and pain -- not like this. As an immortal being, this is the first time he’s come so close to losing his life. In fact, Achilles isn’t quite sure what would happen if Zagreus did die. But he can see the fear in the prince’s eyes. “I’m sorry, lad. Death can be terrifying. I didn’t mean for you to nearly meet him like this.” 

“Death? You mean like...Than?” 

“No. Your brother is much gentler than this." Much gentler than Achilles' own violent, contrived death at the hands of Ares and Apollo. He’d learned from other shades that, though sullen, Thanatos was generally perceived as one of the kinder escorts of the House. 

“He is?” Zagreus’ mouth is twisted in a strange approximation of a smirk. 

“Yes, lad. Death isn’t inherently evil. But this state of hanging in between life and death? It is unnatural, no matter who you are. Though you’ve no need to worry, Prince. You are immortal.” 

“Then why does it hurt so much?” Zagreus grits his teeth as he tries to move again and a fresh wave of pain catches him. 

“Lie still, lad.” Achilles presses a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “That, I do not know. It is beyond my mortal understanding.” 

Zagreus looks disappointed with the answer, but he relaxes fractionally. 

“Achilles?” His questions return a moment later. It seems even mortal injury cannot keep the prince quiet for long.

“Yes, lad?” 

“Those...wretches. Why did they come today?” 

“I-I am not sure.” Achilles feels bad twisting words with Zagreus like this. “I did not know that your--” he stops himself from saying father just in time. “Your lesson would be interrupted like that.” 

Zagreus nods, but Achilles notices that little crease between his brows. However, his breathing does come easier now. After all, Zagreus is a god. He heals quickly. What would be a mortal wound on a man will be nothing more than a minor setback for the fiery prince. 

Zagreus shifts then, wincing, until his head rests in Achilles’ lap. After a moment of surprise, Achilles moves his hand from Zagreus’ shoulder to his head, fingers stroking sweat-damp hair. The sparks in the prince’s hair, while hot, do not burn. Achilles removes the fiery laurels from Zagreus’ head and sets them on the bedside table. He feels a pang in his chest as he looks down at the trembling prince. But this time, the ache goes beyond sorrow. 

Because this time, he remembers. 

Remembers another time he once held a man like this. Patroclus. Achilles breathes in sharply. It was his own stubbornness that ultimately killed his friend. His petty refusal to be on the battlefield because of a perceived slight to his honor. By the time he gathered Patroclus into his arms, Patroclus was stiff and cold. Achilles wept. 

He doesn't realize he’s crying now until a tear falls from his eye and dissipates on Zagreus’ face, a quick puff of steam. Zagreus’ eyes open and he looks up. Moving takes him less effort this time. “Achilles? Are you...crying? I’ll be ok. It...wasn’t your fault. ”

Achilles smiles sadly at the prince as he wipes his eyes with his free hand. 

“My tears are not for you, Prince,” he says, though that’s not entirely true. 

Zagreus’ mouth starts to turn down. 

“Do not mistake me, I am deeply sorrowful for what happened to you today and greatly relieved that you are alive. I wish I could have protected you better.” 

“Then, why--” Zagreus begins. 

“Because I once sat like this with another, lad. My truest friend, my companion. But unlike you, he was only mortal and his body was cold and still in my arms. And it _was_ my fault that time.” 

“Oh.” The prince shudders. Achilles isn’t sure if it’s because of pain or sympathy. “I’m sorry, Achilles.” 

“No matter. It was a long time ago.” 

The prince is silent for a long while. Achilles gently strokes his hair. In fact, Achilles is certain the prince is asleep (or, at least, that catatonic state that passes as sleep among the gods), when he speaks again. It takes everything in Achilles not to jump and jostle Zagreus. 

“What was his name?” Zagreus asks softly. 

Achilles chokes up suddenly, emotion he thought was long gone. He barely gets the words out. “Go to sleep, Prince. That is a story for another time.” 

And to his surprise, the prince obeys and doesn’t ask anything else. Or perhaps he doesn’t have the strength. 

Either way, Achilles is glad of the silence for once.


	6. VI

To see his own blood in such copious amounts seems not to deter the prince, but to give him a greater lust for the sword thereafter. 

In fact, Zagreus is back on his feet that very evening, though he moves a bit stiffly. He proudly displays the bruises to Thanatos and Hypnos in the Great Hall. Hades pretends not to notice, but Achilles sees the Master watching the three boys with hidden interest. Thanatos pretends not to be impressed and scoffs at Zagreus for letting himself get walloped by a wretch. Hypnos, as usual, heaps starry-eyed praises on the prince and asks if he can touch it and does it hurt and what was it like, to bleed like that. Zagreus takes the inquiries in stride and before long, Hypnos has coaxed his smile out again and conversation devolves into a hubris match between Zagreus and Thanatos as they boast about how many wretches they could single-handedly dispatch. Hypnos eggs them on without either of the two more aggressive sons of the House realizing that they’re playing right into the soft-spoken god’s hand. Hypnos soaks it all in with his usual sleepy-eyed enthusiasm. 

And for a night, things are back to normal. 

Zagreus is in the courtyard for lessons the next day looking hardly the worse for wear and, despite Achilles’ suggestion that they take the day off, insists that he’s ready for the next lesson. And ready he is. The prince takes to his lessons over the coming weeks with a sort of vengeful determination that Achilles hasn’t seen in him before. And the second time that Hades sends an ambush of wretches (and witches and numbskulls), Zagreus manages to defeat them with only a few minor wounds and minimal help from Achilles. 

The prince breathes heavy with exertion when the last of the witches falls, but he’s grinning wider than Achilles has seen in a while. 

“I’m getting better, Achilles!” he crows. “Did you see that?” 

“I did, lad.” Achilles nods, recognizing the pride of youth brimming underneath Zagreus’ smile. “You did well.” 

Zagreus walks over and picks up a fallen club from one of the wretches. It dissolves in his hand. “Are the people on the surface really this violent?” 

“Certainly not all of them,” Achilles answers. “In my experience, not even most of them are as violent as the wretches here. Unfortunately, you only have the worst of the worst in Tartarus. And you’ve had many lifetimes to collect.” Achilles gestures to where the lowest level of Hades’ kingdom stretches out in the distance beyond the courtyard, a cold maze of stone corridors lit in eerie green. It is where the worst of the surface dwellers are imprisoned, the ones who were murderers and thieves in their lifetime. The ones who worshiped evil and reveled in lust, greed and pain. 

“What are the rest of the surface-dwellers like?” 

“Well, they’re like...they’re like you and me, lad. And Hypnos, and Megara, and Thanatos, and Nyx. You gods are not so different from the men you made. Perhaps more noble and more terrible in your wrath and definitely more powerful. But there are many personalities on the surface, just as there are many personalities here in the House.”

“Then where do those people go, Achilles? Why aren’t there more of them here?” 

“They’re in Elysium, mostly,” Achilles says wistfully. 

“Elysium,” the prince tastes the word, rolling it on his tongue. “I want to go there. To see other parts of my father’s realm.” 

“Perhaps one day you will.” 

“How come you’re not there, sir?” Zagreus looks genuinely curious. 

Achilles sighs and stares out at Tartarus for a long time, leaning on his spear, before he answers. “I do not rightly know.” 

“Do you wish you were in Elysium?” 

“Sometimes. And sometimes I think that it is better that I am here, instead.” 

“Is that where he is, sir? The one you...your friend?” 

Achilles looks back at the prince. He is a perceptive one, Zagreus. It’s no wonder Hades doesn’t want him asking questions and poking into his affairs. It’s nearly impossible to keep a secret from the prince. 

“I imagine he is, lad.” 

“Don’t you want to see him again, Achilles?” 

“More than anything. But I think that our time is past. Was past, back when we were mortals and he preceded me in death. Perhaps this is part of my punishment for letting him fall.” 

Zagreus’ face falls, although Achilles can tell that he did his best to marshal his expression and keep it straight. Half the time Achilles thinks the prince is not even aware of all that his face gives away. Unlike his father, Zagreus hasn’t mastered the art of the stony stare. “You think it’s punishment, sir, to be here in the House?” 

“Oh, lad, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Be honest, Achilles. Would you leave if you could? Would you go to him, in Elysium?”

Achilles is silent for even longer this time, not entirely sure how to answer that question. Would he leave the House of Hades? There was a time when his answer would have been yes unequivocally. But it has been many seasons since Achilles has seen anything other than the Master’s House and there are many here that he has become immeasurably fond of, the young prince included. Would he leave? Achilles certainly feels the ache in his chest for Patroclus, most days, even though he’s learned to ignore the dull feeling most of the time. Not forgotten, certainly, but Patroclus is far, far out of his reach these days. Achilles isn’t even certain what his friend thinks of him anymore. After all, it was his fault that Patroclus met his end. He’d been -- well, he’d been doing what Achilles should have been doing the whole time -- defending his people. Fighting for honor. Fighting for glory. And Achilles had been sulking. Sulking in his tent, pining after a pretty girl that wasn’t even a love. Just an infatuation. He recognizes that now, after years and days and months and Time in the House. 

Achilles looks over at Zagreus. At the Prince of Hades, at his youth, his vigor, his open honesty and bright hope. So alive. So, so alive in this dead place. And he has his answer. 

“If given the chance, lad, I would go to my friend in Elysium. That is, if he would have me after all this time. But after that, I would return here. Perhaps he would even return with me.” 

There’s something that breaks in Zagreus’ expression then, some hidden tension he’d been damming up behind those mismatched eyes.  “Sir, you really mean that?” 

Achilles doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, lad, I do. There are people here that I would be loathe to lose now.” 

Zagreus smiles, but then melancholy returns to his expression. “Your friend. Do you think he remembers you?” 

“Some days, I like to think that he does.” Achilles looks away again. “Other times, I suspect he drinks the waters of the Lethe and lives peacefully up there without my memory. That is not for me to know. Perhaps for the better.” 

Zagreus is quiet for a long moment. Long enough that Achilles looks back at him to see what he’s doing. He stands with Stygius at his side, looking thoughtful. “Whenever I get out of here, sir, I’ll find your friend for you.” 

“Lad, I --” 

“I promise, Achilles. I’ll find a way to reunite you.” 

Achilles looks sad. “Only if he wishes it.” 

“Of course,” Zagreus says, but he’s hardly deterred. “After all, there must be a way to search Father’s records and find him. Surely, if I --” 

“Zagreus!” Achilles interrupts. 

Zagreus looks surprised. “Sir?” 

“Promise me something.” 

“Anything.” 

The prince’s word is never given in vain and Achilles knows that he could, quite literally, ask for anything and bind Zagreus to it, but he only asks one thing. “Do not petition the Master on my behalf.” 

“What? But, sir, don’t you want to --” 

“Do not ask your Father about my friend, Zagreus. Our time is gone. I’ll allow that you might find him if you ever venture into Elysium, and if you do, perhaps the Fates will bring us together again. But promise me you won’t go looking for him.” 

Zagreus stands there for a moment, mouth half-open, an argument forming on his tongue. 

“Zag --” 

“I promise,” the prince says quickly, as if the words are painful for him to spit out. He looks as if he’s swallowed something disagreeable, but he nods several times. “I promise, sir. On my honor.” He holds his hand out. 

Achilles grasps it and shakes. “Thank you, Prince.” 

“Of course,” Zagreus whispers. 

Achilles gives him a small smile. “Perhaps you will understand one day, Zagreus. It is a complicated dance, mortal affection, and once lost it is terribly hard to get back. Perhaps that is why the Master surrounds himself with those who have lost something precious. Because he can relate.” 

“My Father?” Zagreus tilts his head. 

Achilles mentally smacks himself. There he goes again, saying things he shouldn’t. Things that the Master would frown upon if he heard. Things that Hades definitely wouldn’t want him implying. Especially not to the prince. 

“Achilles, what has my Father lost?” 

“Oh, a great many things, lad. Not least his Olympian family and the chance to live aboveground.” His voice comes out a lot lighter than he thought it would and Achilles prays to the Fates that his hurried explanation stalls Zagreus’ questions on the matter. 

“Oh. Right.” Zagreus nods absently, but he doesn’t look entirely satisfied. 

Achilles sighs. 

“Do you think he ever goes to the surface? My Father, I mean?” 

“Not that I know of.” Achilles is surprised by the question. “But the Master does many things in secret that he doesn’t share with a lowly servant such as I.” 

Zagreus tilts his head thoughtfully. “Achilles, I’m going to go there. One day. To Elysium. To the surface. I’m going to see the world above. I’m going to go to Olympius and find the gods. I won’t stay here forever. Not like Father.” 

Achilles smiles, but he cannot keep the sadness out of his voice as he answers. “I hope you do, lad. I hope you do.” 

But he knows, even now, that the Master will never permit such open fraternizing with the world above. Like his own mortal days with Patroclus, Zagreus' wish to see the world is just a faraway dream. 

A desire to keep one up at night. 

An ache to learn to live with, just as old soldiers learn to live with scars and battle wounds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler!ish note. Just sayin.  
> I haven't entirely finished Hades at this point (although I have managed to make it to the surface a few times!) and I've heard (via the interwebs and rumors) that Achilles and Patroclus do get to reunite, eventually. And then (I think?) Achilles returns to the House? Either way, I imagine that his fondness for the prince would tie him somewhat irrevocably to the House (especially at this point in my narrative, where Achilles believes that a reunion with Patroclus is nigh impossible). I'm also drawing on the myths of Achilles here (since I haven't gotten far enough in the game to have too many conversations with him about Patroclus), where, if I were Achilles', I'd feel damn guilty about Patroclus dying in a blaze of glory while I sulked around in my tent feeling sorry for myself and letting the Greeks get walloped by the Trojans.


	7. VII

It is not long after this that the arguments between Zagreus and the Master escalate. 

“Why can’t I leave the House, Father?” 

“Because I said no. Now get out of my way. You’re holding up the shades.” Hades waves an impatient hand at his son. 

Zagreus stands in front of the great desk, hands fisted by his sides, shaggy brows drawn down in anger. “If you cared about me at all, you’d have the good grace to tell me why I can’t leave!” The fire in Zagreus’ hair and around his feet blazes brighter than Achilles has ever seen it. Every line of the prince’s body is taut, like a drawn bowstring. “Others leave the House all the time! Thanatos, the Furies. In fact, except for Meg, they aren’t even allowed  _ in  _ the House! So why must I stay here?” 

“Because your duties are here in  the House, boy!” Hades roars. "Not elsewhere." 

“What duties? Counting shades? Fighting Achilles? Wandering around wondering why everyone but me has a purpose here? If there’s nothing to keep me here, then let me go!” 

“There are plenty of things to keep you here!” Hades snaps back. “Perhaps if you spent less time pining for what you can’t have and more time attending to your House, you would know your purpose here. There are countless shades waiting to be heard. Hear some of them! There’s paperwork to be filed -- do it! Repairs to be done -- see to them! The work of the House is never-ending. If you paused long enough to see past your own foolishness, you might know that.” 

Zagreus’ scowl deepens. 

The straggling line of shades at the prince’s back mill about half in curiosity and half in terror. The Master has not dismissed them yet, and they all try their damndest not to look at the argument unfolding right in front of them, lest they draw the Master’s ire. 

Even Orpheus shrinks further into his chair, as if trying not to be noticed. 

Only Hypnos and Nyx openly watch the conflict unfold, though even they dare not interrupt. And behind a pillar, so still Achilles isn’t quite sure he’s there, is Thanatos. The only thing that gives him away is the glint of his eye beneath his hood, and the flash of the scythe over his shoulder. 

“And if you paused long enough to care about your own son, you might at least give me some answers!” Zagreus snaps.

Hades looms further over the desk, his own fire a sullen, glowing red. He is more restrained than the prince and all the more terrifying for it. “You ungrateful brat,” Hades hisses. “I have given you nothing but the best of the House. Your own room. Our finest warrior to train you in combat. A family, a dog, and all the riches a boy could want. Why must you demand things you cannot have?” 

“Because you won’t tell me why I can’t have them!” 

Silence descends on the hall. 

“Do you not trust me, boy?” 

Zagreus seethes. “Why should I? I know you hide things from me.” 

Hades surges to his feet. 

Zagreus flinches, but he doesn’t back down. 

“You dare insinuate that I, the Master of the House, keep secrets from you,  _ you little wretch _ ?” 

Nyx audibly gasps. Achilles looks away lest his face betray his sympathy for the prince. Hypnos stares at his list, re-reading the same name for the fifth time. Behind the pillar, Thanatos’ hand reaches for his scythe, his chest burning in anger. Though he tries not to, Zagreus deflates. He looks as if Hades has slapped him across the face, equal parts surprise and pain mingled in his expression. Zagreus shakes his head, a small shower of sparks floating around his shoulders. He takes a few deep breaths and a moment to compose himself. 

“Father, please,” he begins again, his voice softer, but no less intense. “Please, just tell me the truth. Tell me why I can’t go to the surface. Tell me why I feel so out of touch here. Tell me what you're hiding in the House. Please.” 

“I will tell you what you need to know and only what you need to know, boy. Now get out of my sight. And do not come to me again with your incessant questions!” 

Zagreus’ shoulders slump. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be training with Achilles now anyway?” 

Zagreus nods and shuffles out of the throne room. Several of the shades watch in respectful, wide-eyed silence. 

The hall is frozen. 

“My lord --” Nyx begins at the same time Hades shouts, “WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT?” 

The room freezes again. 

“Hypnos, put these shades in order, now! This is the House of Hades, not some festival of that sloven Dionysus.” 

Hypnos yelps and nearly drops his pen. He nods and chatters something unintelligible and zips around pushing shades back into a somewhat orderly queue. 

“And Thanatos, don’t think I don’t see you lurking over there. Get on with it, boy! Death waits for no one. You want the mortals to start thinking they can live forever?” 

Thanatos' scowl is deeper than the pits of Tartarus, but he steps out from behind the pillar and bows wordlessly. Then he disappears in a flash of green fire. 

Hades glares at Nyx, who remains, undeterred, by the edge of his desk. “I will talk to you, later,” he says. “I have work to do, and so do you, do you not, Mother Night?” 

Nyx purses her lips, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she spins gracefully and glides out of the hall. The Master sighs and returns to scowling at the shades lined up in front of his desk. Many of them are trembling. 

“Well, get on with it!” Hades roars at the shade in front. “I don’t have all day.” 

The shade shakes even harder and steps forward. 

Achilles decides to make himself scarce and follow the prince. 

He finds Zagreus in the training yard, beating the living daylights out of a skeletal dummy Achilles built for him. If there’s one material that’s not lacking in the underworld, it’s bone. White splinters fly from the dummy with careless abandon as the prince hacks at limbs like a man possessed. The dummy clearly isn’t going to stand up to the onslaught for long. 

This could be a valuable teaching moment, though Achilles will have to tread carefully, as the prince is clearly angry. At Zagreus’ next swing, Achilles lunges forward and intercepts Stygius with his spear, sparing the dummy. 

Zagreus turns on him with murder in his eyes. 

“Good, lad, but let’s get your anger out on a real opponent, yes?” Achilles half-smiles. 

Zagreus doesn’t return the smile. 

He swings again and Achilles finds himself under an onslaught of weapon strikes so fast and careless that it’s almost too much for him to keep up with. Matching anger rises up in his own chest, but he tamps it down. Anger leads to recklessness on the battlefield. He should know. He avenged more than one fallen companion in his lifetime. And it had, eventually, been his undoing. 

Anger had to be controlled. 

It had to be redirected. 

Zagreus’ swings come swift and wide, leaving his body open. Achilles swoops in under Stygius and nicks Zagreus' chest with the tip of his spear. Just enough to draw blood. Red, red blood. 

Zagreus growls, but the sound is more frustration than pain. 

Achilles could have split him in two with that strike, but he didn’t. They both know that. 

Zagreus’ next strike is even wider, more aggressive, going for sheer power. Achilles blocks it easily and flings it aside. Another touch on the prince, this time on his shoulder. 

Another swing, wide and brash. 

“Zagreus!” Achilles snaps. 

“I don’t need your lessons, old man!” Zagreus snarls. 

The insult stings, but Achilles has long since learned to let petty things like insults go unanswered. He merely frowns at the barbed words and presses his attack. 

In a blinding whirl of blade and spear, Achilles forces Zagreus back across the courtyard, nicking the prince twice more -- once on his upper arm and again on his chest, leaving trickles of blood in the wake of his spear. If the prince wants to be stubborn, then Achilles will match him, strike for strike. 

Zagreus’ back hits the courtyard wall and there’s a moment of panic in his eyes as he realizes he’s got nowhere to go. Achilles’ spear sits lightly against his neck. A winning touch. There’s no denying it.

“Old, am I?” Achilles asks softly. 

Zagreus’ face twists in rage a moment before he explodes. The sparks in his hair are nearly flame as he knocks Achilles spear aside with a shout and shoddily hacks at the veteran shade, Stygius flashing in choppy, violent arcs. There’s no finesse, none of the skill Zagreus has been showing of late. Nothing but pure, unadulterated rage. 

Achilles blocks and steps back, using the greater length of his spear to keep himself out of harm’s way. He’s on the defensive now, though not pressed. Not yet. 

“Attacking like this only leaves you open for a fall, Prince." He lands another touch on Zagreus’ left leg. 

“Stop patronizing me! You’re just like Father!” 

“I am nothing like your father!” Achilles shouts and his vehemence surprises even him. “I am here to teach you to fight. If you’d rather bleed, so be it!” 

And this time, it’s more than a touch that Achilles lands on Zagreus’ side. His spear sinks in deep, deep enough to wound. But not kill. Because Achilles has the good grace not to murder his pupil in cold blood. It’s the same side the wretches injured a while back. 

Zagreus gasps as the spear goes in, face twisted in a strange mixture of pain, fear, and anger. His eyes flash and Achilles knows that he has stoked the fires of rage even higher. 

Zagreus staggers a little and dances back, putting his off-hand to his side. He looks down at his bloody fingers as if surprised. 

Then he yells something wordless and bloodthirsty and comes straight for Achilles’ face. This time he makes it through Achilles guard by sheer, godly force and leaves a thin cut across Achilles’ cheek. Achilles jumps back, feeling the ghostly trickle of ichor on his skin. It was a lucky strike.

"Not with your anger, Prince!” Achilles admonishes as he throws Zagreus’ next charge aside. Zagreus careens into the courtyard wall. He spins, spitting and panting.

“Don’t let your anger use you. Tame it,” Achilles continues.

“What would you know about anger?” Zagreus shouts. “What, Achilles?” He flies at the warrior again, sword strikes punctuating his words. “You don’t have to deal with  _ him _ day in and day out telling you that you aren’t good enough. That you’ll never be good enough. That you can’t leave, can’t ask, can’t search, can’t find! What do you know of anger!?” 

Zagreus slams Stygius down at Achilles’ head. Achilles catches the strike with his spear, two-handed, deflecting the power of the blow down the shaft of his own weapon. He bends slightly, gracefully, though he feels the raw power flow up to his shoulders, vibrating in his chest. Zagreus is not a force to be taken lightly. 

With more training, the prince will become a foe beyond Achilles’ reckoning. With his anger on full display like this, the prince resembles the Master more strongly than ever.

“Anger will be the death of you, lad,” Achilles says as the two struggle, locked together. “Trust me. I’ve seen it before. Don't let it kill you.” 

Zagreus growls. “I’m a god, Achilles. I can’t die!”

Achilles shoves back and unlocks their weapons. Zagreus staggers, blood dripping on the floor beneath his feet. He’s beginning to flag, but that look in his eye shows Achilles that he has no intention of stopping. 

And if he won’t stop, then there’s only one way to teach him this lesson. After all, the prince will learn it eventually. Better at the hand of someone who cares for him than abruptly at the hand of a wretch. 

Achilles will make him stop. 

Much as it pains him to do so.

Perhaps the Master was right in this -- that some lessons have to be drilled into the Prince with repetition and pain. 

“Are you so sure, Prince?” Achilles asks. It’s a final warning, but Zagreus doesn’t pay it any attention. 

Instead, the Prince howls and brings his sword up, a bloody, reckless, heedless charge, straight for Achilles. It’s a blow that Achilles is certain will shear him in half if it lands. But it doesn’t. Because Zagreus leaves himself open. Achilles puts one foot behind the other to brace himself, and levels his spear with Zagreus’ chest. Zagreus’ eyes go wide and he realizes what’s about to happen a moment before it does. But he can’t stop his forward momentum. He runs right into the spear. 

Blood splatters Achilles’s hands and face, so hot it burns where it touches. Zagreus gasps, a deathly sound, the wet, desperate gasp of a man with a punctured lung. A distinctly mortal sound. A battlefield sound that Achilles hoped never to hear again. Blood drips from where Achilles’ spear springs from Zagreus’ chest. 

Zagreus drops his blade and it clatters to the floor between them. He staggers back. Achilles lets go of his spear. Zagreus clutches at the shaft in his chest and topples, landing on his knees. 

He looks up at Achilles with surprise and pain in his eyes. “You...you…” he pants, but he can’t get words out. 

“I am sorry, lad. But I told you.” 

“A-Achilles…” Zagreus gasps. His face is pale now, his fire dim. He’ll die in a moment. 

Achilles’ heart pounds his rib cage so hard it hurts. As if the spear is in his chest instead. His hands shake. He doesn’t try to hide it. There’s a part of him that balks at everything he just did. A part that is horrified and disgusted and frightened. The Master all but explicitly gave Achilles permission to drill his lessons into Zagreus’ head by any means necessary. 

But does that really mean death? 

Zagreus coughs. 

“Anger will destroy you,” Achilles says softly. “Don’t let it, Prince.” 

Zagreus moves his head in something that might be a nod. Or it might just be the life leaving his body. Blood wells up at Zagreus’ feet -- not his. Too much to be his. Achilles gasps. The Styx herself has come to claim the Prince. Like a whirlpool, the blood seethes up from the ground and pulls at the Prince. Zagreus’ eyes roll up in his head and he collapses into the pool, face first. The blood wells over his body and then recedes and there is nothing left but Achilles’ spear. 

Achilles stares at his spear through eyes blurred by tears. 

Then he runs. If the Styx claimed Zagreus, then there’s only one place in the house he will re-appear. Achilles prays to the gods that he’s right. Because he’ll be damned if he’s going to let the Prince crawl out of the blood pool alone.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter that's not exclusively from Achilles's perspective. I decided to toss some other characters' POV's in here. Enjoy!

It surprises the entire house when the Prince washes up out of the blood pool in the middle of the afternoon. Or evening. Or whatever time it is down here. Hades is holding Court when the pool bubbles and gently washes up against the stone stairs leading into the throne room. Hypnos gives it a sleepy glance. New shades wash out of the pool all the time. A little disturbance in the water isn’t unusual. Hypnos walks over and grabs a fluffy towel off the rack near the pool. Shades are often surprised (and disgusted) to find that blood still clings to them even in the afterlife. It’s the least he can do to help them clean up a little when they arrive.

After all, it’s Hypnos’ job to try to make shades forget the fact that they are dead, welcome them into the house, and make sure they get to the right place. If they have grievances they feel are unsettled, then he directs them to the Master. He finds that fluffy towels make that process a little more bearable. They’re kind of like blankets and blankets mean sleep and sleep makes everything better -- everyone knows that. So, fluffy towels it is. 

Hypnos hums to himself as he gets ready to welcome the House’s newest shade. But that’s before he sees the coal-black hair and flame-red laurels surface from the pool. Before Achilles sprints through the hall, heedless of the Court and the shades he elbows out of the way. Before he shoves Hypnos aside and sends him toppling into a heap of fluffy towels. Before he runs straight into the blood pool, not even stopping to take off his sandals or hitch up his robes. 

Hypnos’ eyes are wide, all traces of sleep gone. 

Achilles rushes down into the pool and hauls up a pale and disheveled figure. 

“P-prince Zagreus!” Hypnos exclaims. 

The Hall freezes. Their commotion has drawn the attention of the Master, who sits at his desk as usual, holding court. Hades raises a hand to silence the shade in front of him. His dark eyebrows draw down over smoldering eyes. If Achilles notices the Master’s glare, he does not acknowledge it. His attention is solely on the Prince, who climbs groggily out of the blood pool. 

Hypnos forgets Hades for a moment and jumps to his feet. “Zag! What happened?” He rushes up and drapes his fluffy towel over Zagreus’ shoulders. Zagreus settles into the warmth of the towel as if his own fire isn’t sufficient right now. By the same miracle that keeps his sheets from disintegrating, neither does the towel. 

“H-hypnos.” Zagreus’ teeth chatter, though his jaw is clenched tight to try to stop it. When he looks at Hypnos, his mis-matched eyes are slightly unfocused, as if he’s had a little too much ambrosia. Or like he’s emerging from a dream and isn’t quite awake yet. 

Zagreus looks around the House, then he looks over at the warrior standing dutifully at his side, arm around his shoulders to support him. Something flashes across Zagreus’ features, something that sends a chill down Hypnos’ spine because it looks so much like the Master. A scowl, perhaps? Anger? But it melts into a sort of confused exhaustion so quickly that Hypnos isn’t even sure it was there. 

“Ach-chilles,” Zagreus sighs. 

“Here, lad.” 

Zagreus shivers again. 

“Unless you don’t want me to be,” Achilles says softly. So softly Hypnos almost doesn’t catch it. It is a good thing he’s gotten very good at eavesdropping. There’s a lot people will say around him when they think he’s asleep. Hypnos learned long ago that sharp ears let you in on a lot of secrets. Not that he ever tells anyone what he hears. But still...why would Zagreus not want Achilles around? Those two are thick as thieves. In fact, it is so natural to find the Prince in the warrior’s wake these days, it is almost as if he is Achilles’ shadow. 

“No, d-don’t go. You were right.” Zagreus bows his head. 

“I’m sorry, lad,” Achilles murmurs. 

Hypnos stares at them both, but neither one offers an explanation. “So, uh, welcome to the House, I guess,” he finally says. 

Zagreus and Achilles look at him as if noticing him for the first time. 

“What happened?” Hypnos asks, incredulous. 

Achilles and Zagreus share a look. 

“Zag, did you…?” Hypnos trails off, uncertain. “I mean, the pool...it’s where…” he looks over at Achilles. “Did you…?” Then he screws up his face and spits it out. “Zagreus, did you _die_?” 

Zagreus looks at Hypnos in stunned silence for a second, blinking like he’s only just now considering that possibility himself. He goes a shade paler and Hypnos notices Achilles tighten his grip on the Prince’s shoulder. “I...I think I did,” Zagreus murmurs. He looks back at the pool, at the fading bloody footprints and the puddle he’s dripping all over the House carpet. 

For a moment, Hypnos is caught up in the extreme novelty of this new phenomenon. He’s never seen a god come out of the blood pool before. “Wow! I mean, really, you died? How? What did it feel like? Is your body...is this new?” Hypnos reaches out and touches Zagreus, running a hand down his arm and chest before he realizes he’s treating the Prince like some kind of statue or relic. 

Zagreus chuckles, but it’s weak. “It’s really me, Hypnos. I’m pretty sure this is the same body I’ve always had.” 

“It is,” Achilles says quietly. “You disappeared from the courtyard after I -- a few moments ago.” 

Hypnos’ eyes go even wider. “Does that mean?” He sprints back to his post near a pillar at the end of the hall and snatches up his list. His eyes go even wider as he reads the names scrawled at the very bottom. He runs back to Achilles and the Prince. 

“Achilles?” Hypnos’ voice comes out in a very undignified squeak. “You killed Zagreus!?” 

Achilles and Zagreus both look uncomfortably guilty. 

And that’s when the Master’s voice booms out over them all. 

“Achilles!” 

The slightest wince passes over the warrior’s features. Then his composure returns and he stands up straighter and answers Hades.

“Master?” 

“Come here.” Hades gestures for the shades in front of the desk to clear the way and the queue splits somewhat unevenly and pushes up against the walls of the hall, leaving a clear path for Achilles to walk through. 

Achilles gently passes Zagreus off to Hypnos. Hypnos slides under the Prince’s arm, surprised at how much weight Zagreus lets him take. Achilles walks forward, head up, silent and terrible in his bloody robes, until he stands right in front of Hades. He kneels. 

Zagreus opens his mouth as if to speak, but Hypnos is already moving of his own accord, bringing Zagreus closer to the action. 

“Hypnos!” Hades’ voice booms out over the room again. 

Hypnos squeaks and stands at attention, nearly dropping Zagreus. There’s a momentary scuffle as Hypnos gets a better grip on his brother and then he stammers out, “Y-yes sir!” 

He can’t tell if that’s amusement shining behind Hades’ scowl or not. 

“Fetch me your list.” 

“Yes, sir!” 

Hypnos helps Zagreus settle on the stairs where he normally sits and, at the Prince’s insistence that he’s fine, he carefully carries his list up to Hades’ desk and stands respectfully beside Achilles. Hades holds out a hand. Hypnos hands him the list. Hades regards it only for a moment, eyes flickering to the bottom of the parchment. 

“Achilles, did you kill the Prince?” he asks. 

The entire room holds its breath. The question is weighted. After all, Achilles can’t refute what’s written on the parchment in the Master’s hand. 

Hypnos sneaks a glance at Achilles, but it is impossible to know what the warrior is thinking. His face is impassive, his gaze gives away nothing. And yet, Hypnos thinks he sees Achilles’ hands shake before he clasps them together in front of himself. 

“Yes, my lord. I did.” 

Hades opens his mouth but he doesn’t get a word in edgewise before Zagreus interrupts. 

“It wasn’t his fault, Father!” 

Hypnos is just as surprised as anyone else to see Zagreus standing unsteadily beside him, still wrapped in his towel. He looks like he might throw up any second, but there’s a fire in his eyes that the House has come to recognize so well. That look that says he’s not giving quarter. 

Hades stares down at the prince and Hypnos likes to imagine there’s a shred of compassion there, though it’s hard to read the Master’s face hidden as it is behind his impressive mustache and beard. But who _wouldn’t_ feel something for the Prince right now? Haggard, unsteady, yet burning brighter by the second. He looks for all the world like a half-drowned puppy. You can’t be upset with him right now. You just can’t. 

“And how, praytell, do you maintain that?” Hades asks. His voice is stern, but he doesn’t yell at Zagreus. 

“It was my fault, Father. I was…” Zagreus gulps down a big breath. “I was angry. I came at him. He was just defending himself.” 

Achilles looks at Zagreus with something like awe on his face, mixed with something like displeasure, but it’s all smothered under an unmistakable look of pride. 

Hades looks down at Achilles. “And is this true, warrior?” 

“It is.” 

Hades glances between Achilles and Zagreus for a long moment. 

“Rise, Achilles,” he finally says. Achilles gets to his feet. 

“Go, clean yourself up.” Hades waves a dismissive hand at Achilles. “And try not to make even more of a mess for Dusa. Remove those sandals and get Hypnos to help you clean the floor.” 

Achilles shares a stunned, yet silent, glance with the god of sleep and then they simultaneously nod. Achilles bows at the waist. “Yes, my lord.” He and Hypnos walk back toward the blood pool. 

Zagreus looks even smaller now, standing alone in front of the throne, still shivering. 

“It surprised you, didn’t it?” Hades asks. 

“Wha..?” Zagreus is caught off guard by his father’s interest in him. “Y-you mean, dying?” 

“It’s colder than you think it should be. That’s the first time that your fire has ever been snuffed, isn’t it?” 

Zagreus has no idea how to respond to this. Does this mean that Hades, his Father, Lord of the Dead, has died before? If so, when did that happen? Or is he just talking in generalities?

Zagreus thinks about asking about it, but he decides against it. He was admonished for asking questions mere hours ago. Asking more in his current state doesn’t seem like such a hot idea. He has no strength and no desire to repeat his trip through the Styx anytime soon. He still feels like there is some part of him that isn’t put back together right. 

“That’s the first time I know of, sir.” Zagreus keeps his answer respectful. 

Hades gives him a strange look, like for a moment he is...afraid? Like for a moment, his guard drops and Zagreus gets a glimpse into the heart of the god underneath all the brimstone and death. Like Zagreus said something he...shouldn’t have?

“Father?” Zagreus’ word is barely above a breath. 

Hades snaps back into the present and that glimpse is gone. He’s stony and cold again. Zagreus feels something sink into his stomach uncomfortably. He presses his arms closer against himself. 

“And did you learn your lesson, boy?” Hades barks. 

Zagreus startles. He hates himself for it, but he guesses he can’t blame himself. Not while he’s still reeling from being dead. 

“My lesson? Wait.” Zagreus pauses, thoughts racing through his head. Achilles _was_ trying to teach him something when he died. Zagreus didn’t think that Achilles killed him on purpose. Not exactly. After all, the expression on his face when Zagreus basically impaled himself on his spear was a mix of surprise and regret. But if his Father was asking about his death in such a casual manner, then he must have been expecting it to happen at some point. 

“You told him to kill me!” The words tumble out hot and angry and he points an accusatory finger at his Father, but his shaking hand undermines the effect. 

Perhaps it is the Prince’s still-apparent weakness that softens Hades’ edge this time. But instead of looking angry, Hades looks a bit more amused. “I did not tell him to kill you, boy. What good would that do?” 

Zagreus opens his mouth to respond, but his anger is already dissipating and he realizes that it really _doesn’t_ make sense for Hades to instruct Achilles to kill him. After all, he is a god. He is immortal. If Hades wanted to punish him, there are myriad other ways for him to do it that are worse than death. 

“But you knew it would happen, didn’t you?” Zagreus asks. 

“Of course I did,” Hades rumbles. “You’re too stubborn for it not to have happened eventually.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Tell you what?” 

“What it feels like?” 

“You think I have tasted Death?” Hades’ eyebrows rise in genuine surprise. “The Lord of Hades? You think I have _died?_ ” 

Zagreus stands there, uncertain. His father certainly alluded to the fact that he knew something of the way death feels. But had he actually died? Zagreus realizes he doesn’t know. His father doesn’t talk about his life much, and certainly not around Zagreus. Now that Zagreus knows gods can die, he wonders how many of them have done it and come back. Did they all feel this incomplete afterward? Zagreus finally shakes his head. “I guess not.” 

“You guess correctly. Now get yourself to a chair somewhere before you pass out in my Hall.” Hades’ words are gruff, but there’s something almost...gentle...about the way he looks at Zagreus.

Zagreus realizes that he’s beyond tired and that nauseating feeling in his stomach is still there, churning and making him feel like the world is spinning around him even when he knows it’s not. He doesn’t have the energy or the fight to ask more questions this time.

“Yes, Father.” He turns toward his room. 

And so quiet, so low it’s more of a rumble in his head than a sound in his ears, he hears, “Your fire will come back, son.” 

Zagreus stops, the blood draining from his face faster than the flowing Styx. 

Did Hades...just call him son? 

But Hades is already impatiently gesturing for the shades in the hall to line up again and get on with their business and any affection he might have shown his son is gone from his stern voice and demanding presence. The shades go about their business as if nothing ever happened and none of them dare mention the Prince. 

Hypnos and Achilles are nowhere in sight. 

Zagreus feels his knees give out a moment before he falls. 

Except that he doesn’t fall. 

Because someone is at his elbow, holding him up, smoothing his hair off his forehead and murmuring gentle assurances in his ear as they escort him to bed. 

Zagreus only gets a glimpse of shadow and stardust as his body betrays him and his eyes slip shut. 

He sleeps.


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little interlude away from Achilles' POV ;) Zagreus finds a quiet moment. (Remember, this is pre-The Truth...)

He wakes up to Mother Nyx sitting beside his bed humming to herself. It takes him back to the days when he was just a godling and Nyx often sat by her wayward son’s bed when he couldn’t sleep. Unlike Hypnos, Zagreus has never been one for sleep and as he got older and needed less of it, he took to spending days on end without it. After all, he is a god. Gods don’t have to sleep, so much as they simply rest. Not because they need it like a mortal, but because it allows them to take a break from their endless duties, a break in the monotony of eternity. And, if Hypnos is to be believed, it allows one to refresh one’s mind. 

And perhaps all of that is true. But not for Zagreus. His sleep, when he does take it, is restless and uneasy, as if he, less so than any other god, was simply not  _ made  _ for sleep. Dreams haunt him when he sleeps. They tease him with questions he doesn’t know the answer to. With hooded figures whose faces he can’t see. With things he loses and can never find. And so Zagreus simply doesn’t sleep. 

But obviously he did just now. And perhaps Hypnos had a hand in it, but he doesn’t remember any dreams this time. He blinks. 

Nyx stops humming and looks down at him with a soft smile. “You are awake, child. How do you feel?” 

“Nyx?” Zagreus scrubs a hand across his face and sits up. At some point, someone undressed him and the sheets tumble off his bare chest and pool in his lap. With some relief, he notices he’s not covered in blood anymore either. There’s still a little hollow in his chest, where his fire usually sits, warm and alive. It’s cooler than normal, but it’s there, like a timid flame after a windstorm. “I’m ok, I think.” 

“Do you feel whole again?” 

“I...uh. Yes. Mostly. You know about that?” 

Nyx gives him a faint smile. “I believe the entire House knows about it by now. It was a little hard to ignore your grand entrance, after all.” 

Zagreus groans and falls back onto the pillows, arms spread out beside him. 

Nyx leans over and brushes his hair off his forehead. “It is nothing to be ashamed of, Zagreus.” 

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who died.”

“You are not the first god to taste death.” 

Zagreus looks over at Nyx, eyebrows raised. “I’m not?” 

“Of course not, child. Or don’t you remember the stories of the time your Olympian cousins fought their progenitors, the Titans?” 

“They died?” 

“Of a sort. They were all swallowed by their father, remember? All but Zeus.” 

“Even Father?” Zagreus asks eagerly. 

“Yes, even your Father.” 

“Then he has died!” 

“Inasmuch as a god can, yes. Though his experience was a bit...different than yours.” 

Zagreus stares at the dark, stony ceiling for a long while. Perhaps that is what Hades was referring to. Did he lose his fire too, when he was swallowed by his father? Zagreus shivers. He can’t imagine what that must have been like. To die is entirely one thing, but to be snuffed out and still exist, unable to do anything about it? That would be a different sort of pain and terror altogether. And Hades was young then. Much younger than he is now. Was he afraid? Did he taste despair there, in the dark? Did he seek comfort from his brothers and sisters? Had they even been able to talk to each other down there? 

“Nyx…” Zagreus begins and then stops because he isn’t at all sure where to start asking his questions. 

“Yes, child?” 

“My father, do you think he’s ever been afraid?”

Nyx looks away for a long moment. Then she looks back at Zagreus and there’s something very tender and sad in her gaze. She stands gracefully from her chair and slides onto the bed next to Zagreus, sitting against the headboard. She pulls him up next to her until he leans against her shoulder. 

Zagreus is surprised, but he follows her lead and nestles his head into the hollow between her neck and shoulder. She brushes his hair off his forehead once more, letting her fingers tangle in his ebon locks and stay there.

He hasn’t sat with Mother Nyx like this in...well, in a long time. Since he was a godling. 

Nyx sighs and leans her cheek against the top of Zagreus’ head.  When she finally speaks, it is nearly a whisper, brushing through his hair. “Zagreus, in all the time I have known your father, I have only seen him afraid, genuinely afraid, once.” 

“When was that?” Zagreus asks softly. 

“When you were born.” 

Zagreus sits up a little, enough that he can look up at Nyx. Her hand slides to the back of his head. She smiles at him, but it is infinitely sad. 

“When I was born?” No one really talks about the birth of the gods. After all, for most of them, it happened so long ago. Even for Zagreus, one of the youngest gods in the house, it has been some time. And gods don’t celebrate mortal things like birthdays or anniversaries, so they don’t really keep track of the time they’ve been alive. “He was afraid...of me?” Zagreus’ brow furrows, draws down as he frowns. 

“No, child. He wasn’t afraid of you. He was afraid  _ for _ you.” 

“For me? What happened?” 

Nyx gently leans Zagreus back onto her shoulder. He doesn’t resist although he gets the strange feeling that she does this so that she doesn’t have to look him in the eye as she tells him the next part of the story. 

“You were so tiny. And so cold, when you were born,” Nyx says. “Your father….well, your father was afraid you might not make it.” 

“And you? Were you afraid, Mother Nyx?” 

He feels Nyx shift then. “Yes. I was afraid too. We all were.” 

“But I didn’t die. I’m fine.” 

“Yes, you are, child.” Nyx wraps her arms around him then, drawing him into a tight embrace. “You are the finest son this House has ever seen.” 

“The finest? Nyx, that’s hardly --” 

Nyx puts a finger on his lips and laughs. Zagreus can’t help but smile. Nyx’s laugh is rare, but beautiful, husky and soft, like the night itself. Scattered with warmth like the stars scatter the sky. “Hardly enough praise for you, my child. Don’t forget, Zagreus. No matter what happens, I will always be proud of you. Always.” 

Zagreus feels something unexpected well up in his chest then, something warm and heady. Like a missing piece of himself is finally back in place. His eyes go strangely blurry and he swipes a hand across them, only to find the shimmering damp of tears come away on his skin. It evaporates quickly. Zagreus gasps. His fire is back!

Nyx, without even looking, wipes a gentle hand across his face, drying the rest of his tears. Then she rests her chin on the top of his head. 

“I love you, child,” she says. 

“I love you too, Mother Nyx.” 

“Zagreus?” 

“Yes?” 

“If you ever do leave the House, promise you will come back to visit us?” 

“Of course. I’ll always come back for you, Mother.” 

“Oh, child.” Nyx nestles closer against him. “You always were the sweetest of my children.” 

Zagreus smiles and closes his eyes. He isn’t quite sure if he imagines it or not, but he thinks he feels a tear hit the top of his head. But when he shifts, as if to look up, Nyx squeezes him tighter, holding him in place. 

And for a moment, Zagreus loses himself in her warmth and shadow and can almost forget the tears.

* * *

Achilles stands in shadow at the prince’s doorway, a smile on his face as he watches the prince and Nyx sit together. He stands far enough away that he can’t make out their words, just the gentle murmur of conversation. This is not something that he should interrupt. It is rare that the prince gets a moment with his surrogate mother, and especially rare that it’s a moment as close as this. What with all the duties of the house and Zagreus’ training, they haven’t had much time together lately. 

Achilles feels a pang of sadness lodge in his chest. The moment is a bittersweet one and he can understand the tears that sparkle like crystal on Nyx’s cheeks. Because she knows. She knows that the boy she holds in her arms isn’t really hers, just as Achilles knows, just as the Master knows. Just as Thanatos and Hypnos likely suspect. In fact, Achilles is fairly certain most of the House knows or suspects except for the prince himself. 

One day that secret will be exposed. And on that day, there will be Hell to pay. Achilles can only imagine how Zagreus will react. The prince is young, vibrant, alive and led largely by his emotions and impulses. He hasn’t experienced real betrayal in his life yet. Certainly he knows that Hades hides things from him, but he hasn’t yet unraveled the lie and realized the full extent of what is hidden from him. 

Achilles aches for the prince. For on that day, when he finally does find out, he’s going to lose a part of himself. That innocence, that purity that is so refreshing in Zagreus and so unlike his father. There will be a reckoning and Achilles suspects it is coming sooner rather than later. He can feel it, in the House, in the Master -- this careful tiptoeing around the issue like a man tiptoeing around a sleeping cyclops. 

Achilles sighs. 

There is much for the prince to learn. 

And much for Achilles to teach him. Hopefully to better prepare him for the day he learns the truth. 

But those lessons can wait. 

Right now, Zagreus is just a child. And Achilles will let him stay that way as long as he can. 

With a sad smile, Achilles withdraws and leaves the prince and Nyx to themselves. He takes up a post nearby to make sure that they aren’t disturbed. 

The least he can do is give them a quiet moment together. 

Because the gods only know it won’t last forever. 


End file.
